


Finding a Helpmate

by GizmoTrinket



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Based on a Tumblr Post, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 14:46:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12796695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GizmoTrinket/pseuds/GizmoTrinket
Summary: help·mate (ˈhelpˌmāt) -noun:a helpful companion or partner, especially one's husband or wife.In a universe where only the rich can afford the serum to see one's soulmate Sherlock has nearly given up on finding his.





	Finding a Helpmate

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post on tumblr](https://gizmotrinket.tumblr.com/post/167782458462/hello-im-new-and-really-enjoyed-what-i-read)

“I’m sure you’ll find your soulmate this year dear.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his mother’s words. She said this every year. Sherlock was nearly thirty; no one had ever taken this long to find their soulmate. It was possible that Sherlock’s soulmate had died before they could meet but Sherlock rather thought Sally Donovan was right when she said he just didn’t have one.

Soulmates were something only the upper-class could afford to find. The serum that allowed people to see their soulmate’s aura was outrageously expensive and Sherlock couldn’t help but feel that he’d been wasting his parent’s money for the past ten years.

Sherlock hovered on the outskirts of the party, amusing himself by deducing the guests. When he tired of that he deduced the waitstaff. None of them had found their soulmates and quite a few of them had married although there was a fair amount of younger people who had taken the job on the off chance that their soulmate was one of the elite and would sweep them into their arms at midnight.

The room was large, built specifically for this purpose. People mingled, waiting for the sun to go down to take the serum. Auras were best seen in low light. People had until midnight on the New Year to find their other half and kiss them to create the soul bond. Sherlock wasn’t one of the masses who believed their soulmate would solve all their problems. He knew better than most that twenty-five percent of people in a soul bond found comfort in another’s bed. Sherlock did the math in his head if the bonded couples here were any indication that number had climbed to thirty percent.

Mycroft, Sherlock’s elder brother, would say that Sherlock was a romantic. Mycroft teased Sherlock ruthlessly about his lack of a love life. Sherlock wasn’t a romantic, he wasn’t. Just because he didn’t see the point of having sex didn’t mean he was saving himself for a stranger. And if he’d never kissed anyone it was just because kissing was just a prelude to sex was all.

The doctors entered and people started queuing up for the injection. Sherlock was more than capable of injecting his own dose but since he was fresh out of rehab Sherlock’s family thought it was best if no one gave him a needle.

Some of the people in the room raised their eyebrows when Sherlock joined the queues. Sherlock had done everything in his power to look younger but it was obvious he was the oldest one to get an injection that night.

As the line moved Sherlock was getting antsy. He wondered the same things he wondered every year, was he going to find his soulmate this year? What would they be like? Would they be able to tolerate him or would they have an affair? Sherlock always thought “they” but he hoped they would be a “he.” Sherlock didn’t find women attractive. He could appreciate when a woman was good looking the same way one would find a painting appealing. Most women were pleasant to look at but he didn’t want to have sex with them.

When Sherlock was close enough to get a good look he deduced his doctor. The man was the most interesting person in the room. Good looking, but not so much that he had a complex about it, injured in the line of duty. The doctor smiled at the woman in front of Sherlock and flirted with her a bit. Sherlock found his smile luminous. He found himself thinking it was a pity that the doctor was straight.

The woman got her injection and moved on and Sherlock found himself floundering. He was flustered as he took off his suit jacket and cursed when he realized he had nowhere to hang it. He folded it under one arm and unbuttoned his sleeve. He paused; he didn’t want the doctor to see the track marks.

Sherlock decided he should just save himself the embarrassment and got out of line. When he walked past another table he stole a clean needle. He went to the loo and sighed. Why did he even bother? He held up the little vial of serum. He was tempted to go and sell it, he would make a killing but the serum only worked on New Year's Eve, he wouldn’t be able to get a good bidding war going in the few hours it would be useful. And what did he need the money for anyway? He wasn’t going to go back on drugs and his trust covered all his expenses. Then again, one of the conditions of his living arrangement was finding a flatmate. Sherlock had hoped that his soulmate would be his flatmate but...

This was the last year, he decided. After this year he would assume that his soulmate died and he wouldn’t bother with this silly tradition anymore. He opened the needle and had just uncapped it when the loo door opened, knocking him off balance. Sherlock dropped the needle and it clattered into the sink. The sink looked clean but Sherlock had done growth cultures of the bacteria that grew in the sinks in public toilets.

Sherlock sighed. The person who knocked into him was one of the waitstaff; they swiped the vial and took off running. Sherlock gave chase but it was the cute blond doctor that tackled the thief in the car park. The vial fell through the air before shattering on the ground.

Sherlock sighed again. Well, it looked like the previous year was his last year. He’d go inside and he wouldn’t even have to pretend he didn’t see his soulmate. Perhaps he’d get lucky and they’d find him but Sherlock rather thought it was fate, letting him down in a gentler way than it had in the past. There’d be no calm façade to uphold while he made a mad scramble to search through the crowded room this time.

Sherlock pulled out some of Lestrade’s handcuffs and called the officer to arrest the man properly. “He stole my serum before breaking it in his attempt to escape, I’d wager that is worth several charges, Lestrade. Now come get him before he hurts himself further trying to escape your handcuffs.”

The detective grumbled something about unlawful arrests but Sherlock wasn’t really listening. He was busy watching the doctor dig through his pockets and Sherlock wondered if the doctor realized he didn’t need his cane. He hadn’t used it to stand and his tackle was textbook. The limp was clearly psychosomatic.

“Here, use mine,” he said, holding a vial out to Sherlock.

“Oh…” Sherlock wasn’t expecting that. He knew the doctors could be paid in serum but he hadn’t been expecting this doctor to take that option. The man was obviously low on funds. Realizing he hadn’t thanked the doctor properly he said, “Thank you.” But Sherlock made no move to take the vial.

He noticed the tan on the doctor’s wrist and had to ask, “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Sorry?”

“Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know-?”

The doctor’s question was interrupted by a cheerful doctor calling out, “John! John Watson!” The other doctor introduced himself, “Stamford, Mike Stamford. We were at Barts together.”

Sherlock shifted his weight to his other foot. Where was Lestrade? It was getting late, if he had any chance of his soulmate taking the serum and seeing him before midnight he had to get back in there now.

The doctors started talking and Sherlock tuned them out. His heart sank when he looked at the clock and it was eleven. Lestrade was Mycroft’s soulmate and they’d met when Sherlock was arrested for soliciting at last year’s party. Mycroft had been more insufferable than ever afterwards but having a detective in the family allowed Sherlock to work on cases as long as he stayed clean.

“It’s getting late, John. Do you want me to give you that serum you’ve got in your hand?” Doctor Stamford asked.

“Um, no. Actually, I was just about to give it to him. I accidentally smashed his, you see.” John rubbed his neck as if he was uncomfortable.

“Oh, no worries. They put enough for two doses in each vial. I’ll just give you each half,” Doctor Stamford said cheerfully.

“Really?” Sherlock asked. He had no idea. How wasteful.

“Well, the serum works by weight and having extra never hurt anyone so they just put in the maximum dosage. You’re both so slight it shouldn’t matter. Me on the other hand, I’d need the full dose,” he chuckled at his own expense and went to his car to get two clean needles.

Sherlock checked his watch, twenty minutes to midnight, plenty of time to get back to the party.

"So," John started making small talk, "what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a consulting detective, the only one in the world," Sherlock explained.

"Oh," John said, brow furrowed in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"It means, when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

"The police don't consult amateurs."

Sherlock glared at John. How dare he? "My first words to you were Afghanistan or Iraq."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know." Sherlock thought that was obvious. He'd asked a question after all. "I saw." Sherlock explained about the tan, the psychosomatic limp, the stance, everything he'd seen and all the conclusions he'd drawn from them. "And I know you're a romantic," he concluded, surprising himself. He hadn't intended to say that bit, but now that it was out he finished, "Even though you're short on funds you took the serum."

"That..."

Sherlock braced for the insults that were sure to come. No one liked being deduced like that.

"...was amazing."

Sherlock blinked in surprise. "You really think so?"

"Of course! It was extraordinary. Really extraordinary," John said.

"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock asked with a timid smile. Having a doctor around would be useful. Besides, John was an army doctor. The best companion Sherlock could think of for his line of work. Sherlock was sure he could cure John's psychosomatic limp. They both needed flatmates. It was meant to be.

"What?" John asked, clearly not following Sherlock's train of thought.

Doctor Stamford returned and Sherlock allowed John to go first. He made sure to angle his body so Doctor Watson couldn't see his forearm. Doctor Stamford gave Sherlock a pitying look that Sherlock ignored. He was clean and his past was no one's business but his own. Doctor Stamford put a plaster over Sherlock's injection site and Sherlock rolled down his sleeve. He turned to ask John to be his flatmate, assuming neither of them found their soulmates tonight.

Doctor Watson was glowing.

"Oh," Sherlock gasped.

"Well, this is unexpected," John said.

Sherlock winced. Of course, John liked women. How could he have forgotten? Still, Sherlock wanted John to move in. In fact, it might be better; there'd be no other soulmate to steal John away. Sherlock had gone this long without physical affection, what was the rest of his life?

"I play the violin when I'm thinking, sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you?" Sherlock had been about to say: _"Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."_

But John had strode forward, wrapping one hand around Sherlock's waist and the other around the back of his head. John leaned in, pulling Sherlock down to him as he stood on his toes. He hesitated right before their lips touched.

Sherlock closed the gap.

Their first kiss was rather chaste, just a meeting of their lips. But it lit fireworks in Sherlock's chest and fire in his veins.

John was the one who broke the kiss.

"Wow," John breathed.

Sherlock privately agreed. "I thought you liked women," Sherlock said. He was mortified. He hadn't meant to say that.

"I do," John said. "Doesn't mean I don't like men." John ducked his head but smiled at Sherlock.

"Oh, you're bisexual," Sherlock realized.

"I don't like labels," John said.

Sherlock nodded his understanding.

"I don't even know your name," John said with a chuckle.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He winked at John, people liked it when he winked. "Move in with me."

"Alright," John agreed.

Doctor Stamford had exited during their exchange and neither of them had noticed until Lestrade showed up to take the criminal off their hands.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asked, motioning toward John.

"This is my soulmate, Doctor John Watson," Sherlock said proudly.

Lestrade congratulated Sherlock and told him he could come in to give his statement tomorrow.

"Hungry?" Sherlock asked John as soon as Lestrade had left.

"Starving," John said, licking his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Finished already? Check out all my other BBC Sherlock fanfics. There's something for everyone!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr [( @LookArtThat )](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lookartthat) and follow my sub-blog [( @TheArtOne )](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/theartone) for story updates. I'm on Twitter @GizmoTrinket221 slowly turning into a shadowy gremlin.


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